No One Escapes Death
by EndWillows
Summary: AKA: Where all of my DBD one-shots and plot bunny ideas are going. Feel free to do requests! #3: Defiance: Philip Ojomo has a promise to keep.
1. 8 Days in March

**A/N:** Thanks for the enthusiasm guys! Leashes will definitely be continued in the future, but since this is really more of a collection of various oneshots, it won't be released consecutively. I have a good ten ideas or so on what to do for these little ficlets, but make sure to leave a review if you have an idea I could do! Until then, enjoy some fluff with everyone's favorite Russian killer :3

 **Title:** 8 Days in March

 **Rating:** K+

 **Characters:** The Huntress (Anna), others

 **Summary:** A series of disasters gives Anna a day to remember

Anna's day started with her sneezing. Her nose itched, her eyes burned, and her throat felt raw. She hadn't felt this bad in a long time.

She hadn't thought it was possible to get sick in the Entity's realm, but she supposed anything was possible. Anna groaned softly, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She hadn't been sick in years, not since…

Well, not since the days when she could afford to be sick. Anna got out of her bed, opened the curtains to let in light, and her eyes fell upon the culprit. A bundle of carnations lay on her dresser, wrapped with a white ribbon. There were multiple white carnations, a few light red ones, and a single purple one in the center. There was no note, so Anna didn't know who exactly to bury her hatchet into.

She was _allergic_ to carnations. Anna scowled at the flowers, ripping her window open and throwing them out. It did nothing to soothe her aching sinuses, but she felt a little better anyways.

What a horrible start to the day.

..

Anna always preferred to spend her days alone, so that she could prepare for the trials at night. Unfortunately, it appears that her fellow killers, Lisa and Sally, did not get the memo.

"That glasses kid, what was his name, Sally?" Lisa cackled, as she ripped into her meal with gusto. Anna eyed her distastefully, sliding her own plate away. Watching Lisa eat was enough to make anyone lose their appetite. Sally had her face buried in a book to avoid the sight.

"Dwight." Sally answers, turning a page. Anna grinded her teeth in annoyance.

"Right, him. He literally tripped over a branch while I was chasing him in this last trial, Anna! You should've seen him." Lisa howled with laughter, and Anna closed her eyes as she felt a headache forming.

She couldn't wait to be alone.

..

Her troubles only continued. Anna stared at the empty locker in front of her in disbelief, then closed it and reopened it, just to see if anything changed.

Someone had stolen her hatchets. Not just any hatchets, but her _favorite_ hatchets with the green handles, the ones she always brought with her into trials.

"Unbelievable." Anna muttered, glaring balefully at the empty closet. It seemed the Entity had turned the entire universe against her today. She wanted to scream with frustration, but she refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her break. It was probably another one of Herman's pranks, anyways.

Anna slammed the locker shut and stormed off, nearly knocking Philip over as she passed. She normally would have apologized, but not today.

Honestly, it's a miracle she hasn't killed anyone today. Yet.

..

A trial was honestly just what Anna needed. Sure, her nose still itched, her stomach growled, and she still hadn't found her favorite set of hatchets, but surely a proper trial would help rid her of her frustrations. She relished the feeling of a good hunt. Anna arrived at the summoning circle earlier than any of the other killers, focusing on stretching and meditating so she would be at her prime.

Eventually the time for the trials came, and Anna watched in disbelief as she was looked over. Myers had a trial, Herman had a trial, Philip had a trial, Evan had _two_ trials. But none for her.

Anna wanted to snarl, but she was aware of Lisa and Sally's eyes on her, so she turned around and stormed back to her hut.

..

All in all, it was by far the worst day Anna had ever experienced in the Entity's realm. At this point, Anna was ready to go to sleep early just to end this nightmare. Instead, she arrived home to find her hut absolutely full of people.

"What is the meaning of this?" She snarled, scaring the survivors crowded around her living area. "Did everyone conspire against me today? Do you all enjoy my suffering? What do you want?" She yelled at the group. There was a moment of stunned silence, and Anna used the time to notice the changes in the room. More of those _dreadful_ carnations, a banner with bright words that she couldn't read, a box, and…a cake?

"Happy mother's day?" One of the girls- Claudette, she believed- said meekly, looking scared she would yell again. Anna froze.

Mother's day?

Her eyes took in the cake, which was simply decorated with a cute bunny on it, and the box, which held gleaming hatchets with familiar green handles.

Mother's day.

Oh.

Anna closed her eyes as tears welled up, and she sank to the ground. The survivor girls in front of her hesitated, keeping their distance from the emotional huntress. Behind her, she could hear Lisa and Sally breathing, both mercifully quiet for once.

 _Oh._

"I… thank you." Anna finally managed to whisper, looking up at the group of girls- _her_ girls. "Did all of you plan this?"

"We tried." Meg answers, smiling slightly. "Laurie got the carnations, Feng Min made the cake, Nea and I tried to clean up your hatchets for you, Claudette set up the decorations, and Lisa and Sally tried to keep you company throughout the day." Anna felt a twinge of guilt for how she reacted. They had just been trying to do something nice for her, and she had lashed out.

"We're sorry if you don't like it." Claudette says, looking around. "We tried, but here in the Entity's realm we have to get a bit creative with things. And I'm sorry if we were presumptive about Mother's day, but we just figured, well… you're the closest thing all of us have to a big sister, let alone a mother. We thought we'd appreciate you. If that's okay." She adds hastily.

"Thank you, girls." Anna whispers. "You're all very kind. I appreciate this, more than you know." In a dash of bravery, she holds her arms out, and she's rewarded when Meg and Feng Min sprint in for a hug, followed by the rest of the women.

"Happy mother's day, Anna!" They chorus, and Anna laughs as a tear slips down her cheek.

"Do me a favor, alright girls?" She smiles as they start handing out plates of cake.

"Next time? No carnations."

 **FIN**

 **A/N:** Carnations are traditional flowers to give on mother's day. According to Wikipedia, white ones represent pure love and luck, light red ones represent admiration, and a purple one represents condolence for the death of a loved one- in this case the death of Anna's mother.While the U.S. celebrates mother's day on the second Sunday in May, other countries such as Russia (Anna's native country) instead celebrate mothers on International Woman's Day on March 8th, hence the title. Anna is such a precious cinnamon roll mother, and she must be protected at all costs. I have to say, writing fluffiness involving serial killers and their victims is bizarre, but it's easier when you have sympathetic characters like Anna or Lisa who weren't responsible for their situations. I hope you guys enjoyed the oneshot, and if you have the time please leave a review!

~EndWillows


	2. He

**He**

 _He is twelve, and she is nine_

His father told him to avoid the other kids in the neighborhood. _Nothing but trouble, and your ma has enough trouble with you_ , he would always say. He walks to and from school alone, eats his meals alone, plays alone, does everything alone. The only time he has ever spoken to another person besides his father is the day he introduces himself in school. He sees the children whispering about him, hears a few laughs, and wilts. He sits at his desk in the corner and does not speak for the rest of the school day ( _year)._ He goes home to a silent house and finds some stale food in the cupboard. Pa is out working in the fields, and his ma is not here. She never is, these days.

His routine continues for months- get up, find food, go to school, come home, stay silent, avoid Pa, sleep, repeat. There is hardly any change, and any change is never good. Like when he noticed his ma's clothing and things were gone.

 _Pa beat him so badly he couldn't go to school the day after, all black and blue and broken._

He meets her on the playground, one day. Normally he sits alone against the brick wall, watching children play, but this precocious girl sits right next to him, adjusts her glasses, and opens a book without saying a word.

He wants to ask what her name is, but bad things happen when he speaks, so he stays silent.

 _She flashes him a smile as the bell rings and they head back inside. He never forgets it._

He sees her, at the end of the school year, being teased by some of the other girls. They call her names, pull on her hair. He feels angry on behalf of the girl, and rushes over, pushing one of the bullies down. The girl runs off, and he is called to the principal's office.

 _His father beats him and he never sees her again._

.

 _He is a soldier, she is a nurse_

When the bullet rips through his flesh, he barely even notices it. There is pain, sure, but he has known that all his life, and he is far more concerned with making sure he returns the favor in kind. The enemy falls on his bayonet, but he keeps fighting until there is no one left to fight.

She sees him as the soldiers are returning, and frowns, grabbing his unhurt arm and ushering him into the tent. He is reluctant- he's rarely in physical contact with others, and never a _girl_ before, but she gives him a soothing smile and makes him sit down.

"This will sting a bit." She warns, voice soft. He closes his eyes and nods, focusing on her humming instead of the alcohol and stitching. After she finishes with the wound, she looks him over and orders him to rest on the cot for the rest of the day, as he has "overworked himself far too much." He thinks of asking for her name, but he doesn't want to break the peace that has settled over the tent.

She doesn't ask about his scars, and he doesn't ask her about the bruises covering her wrists. When he finally exits her tent, hours later, he looks back to see her staring at the sky, dark eyes thoughtful and determined.

He thinks she looks like an angel, on this battlefield. An angel surrounded by filthy men.

His squadron marches on the next day, and he doesn't see her again in this life.

.

 _He is the outcast, she is the valedictorian_

His counselor says he will never make it into college.

He accepts this without complaint. He knows he is not smart, not athletic, not good enough for more school. He should be grateful that he graduated at all, and that is through months of work with his teachers and tutor.

His tutor is the valedictorian. She is kind, and brave, and smarter than he could ever be. She is patient, and humble, and pretty, and he thinks he might be a bit in love.

He doesn't tell her. She is a shining star, ready to conquer the world with her discoveries and brilliance. All he will ever do is return to his father's farm and work in the mud for the rest of his days. He doesn't deserve her.

She catches his eye as she gives her speech, and he manages his best smile, just for her. Her eyes sparkle in response.

She goes off to an Ivy League school, discovers an entirely new plant species. He doesn't think she remembers him, but he couldn't be more proud.

.

 _He is a witness, and she is broken_

He hears the screeching of breaks and the crash, and looks up from the glass he is cleaning.

It is raining, today. The clouds are a dark gray, the bar's walls a muted blue, and now there is red spilling onto a dark black road.

He rushes outside with everyone else, pushing past the bystanders to crouch beside the person.

She is dazed, possibly in shock. There is red blood seeping from her, staining the ground and his pants as he shouts for someone to call an ambulance. The driver of the car steps out, swearing and screaming, full of shock and guilt and grief.

To his amazement, the girl in his arms manages a feeble smile. They make eye contact, and he realizes that she will not survive this. Her hand is still curled around a green bag, the contents of which are peeking out; books, more than he has ever read in his life, and a small white packet.

"Take it," She whispers as the sirens start to get louder and the people step away. He takes the tiny packet in one hand, holding her other one as she passes away.

He plants the seeds in the window box of his apartment. The next spring, it is bright with daisies.

He places one at her grave.

.

 _He is a disappointment, she is a prodigy_

The doctor who looks at his mother is younger than him.

He is surprised, and rather impressed. She is a tiny little thing, with her hair clipped back and green glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. She studies the clipboard in her hands, ignoring him and his impatient father. The clinic in his hometown had recommended her, said she was the best in the world at treating diseases like his mothers, so his father had reluctantly found the money to bring them halfway across the country to Seattle.

It isn't an easy cure, she explains to his scowling father later on. It will take time, and effort. Someone will need to stay with her here as she recovers.

He is just as surprised as they are when he finds himself volunteering.

He and his mother move into the apartment next to hers. She teaches him how much of which medications to give to his mother at what time, and he repays the favor by bringing her cookies and reminding her to eat _(for all she helped others, she was very bad at taking care of herself)._

One night, they sit together by his fireplace as his mother sleeps in her room. The young doctor is reading from a heavy tome, one which he doubts he could understand a single sentence of. He is carving a figure from a block of wood, a bird with its wings outstretched.

"That's amazing." She breathes, reaching out to touch the wooden tip of a wing. "Incredible!"

 _Not nearly as incredible as you,_ he thinks, though he doesn't say as much. He finishes the bird, and another carving of a wolf, and give them to her for Christmas. She hugs him with a smile, and the smile he gives back isn't forced.

When his mother is doing well enough to return home, they part ways. She gives him a straw hat that she says she found at a market. It made her think of him, she says. He smiles and hugs her and says goodbye.

They do not see each other in person again, and with how busy the prodigal doctor is they rarely keep in touch, but he wears that hat every day in the fields.

And every time he glimpses himself in the mirror, he manages to smile.

.

 _He is a listener, and she is a dreamer_

"I'm going to become a biologist." She says one day during lunch.

They are sitting at their table, the one in the back corner with the flickering light. It was really the table for all outcasts, but today they had it alone and he preferred it that day. He looks up in surprise, then nods.

"You will." He agrees. She flashes him a smile, then goes back to staring at her mashed potatoes.

"My dad doesn't think so." She admits. "He thinks I should go to seminary. Says all a girl needs in her life is a bible, not a doctorate." He raises an eyebrow at this, but she continues.

"And my sisters think I'm a fool, for wanting to go to school." She's getting angry now, her hand clenching her fork and her lips pursed in a scowl. "They think I'll never get a husband, which is fine, I don't _want_ a husband, but it's all they ever talk about, and I'm sick of it." He nods in agreement, and continues listening to her rant and fume.

She'll make it into university, he knows. She'll discover a cure for a disease, or a new way to grow crops, or something else monumental. Then they'll give her a Nobel Prize, and schools and libraries all around the country will be named after her. She laughs when he tells her this, a flustered but pleased blush on her face.

"Thanks." She reaches out, patting his hand, and his heart leaps and butterflies invade his stomach. "You're my only friend, you know? Thanks for being there, and listening."

He smiles and nods. She doesn't ask him about his own plans for the future, possibly because she knows he doesn't have any- his life seems to be locked into this town, as it always has for generations. He won't escape it, and they both know it.

That's okay. If she can escape, it is worth it.

.

 _He is broken and she is not there_

The people have started feeding him less.

They hadn't fed him much to begin with, but as the time marched on and the months grew colder, he is given barely enough to survive.

He starts to focus on his rage and hatred. There is nothing else in these four brick walls to sustain him, and there is nothing else worth living for but revenge. He pushes himself, gaining strength, and constantly wearing down the prison he is trapped in.

The day he breaks out is the first time he sees sunlight in his life. It burns, and he hisses. He pushes the slaughtered corpses away, and grabs a hammer in his hands.

He feels better, now, but not complete. Something is missing, though he doesn't know what.

It does not matter. The inky blackness of the demon envelops him, and he does not resist.

.

He finds her, for the final time, in a corn field.

She is stealthier than the others who run from him. She hides, and waits patiently to run. It takes him a good amount of time to finally strike her down, but he relishes in it. The hunt has fueled him, and he nearly laughs at the scream that rips through her the same time as the hook does.

She is still a fighter, his angel. Her eyes have an intelligent fire in them, and she remains determined to never give up. He finds he respects that, even as the Entity murmurs for him to look away and seek other prey.

He ignores the demon's whispers. He maintains eye contact with her, waiting while she struggles and eventually dies. Neither look away.

She will come back, he knows. And their dangerous hunt will begin anew. A bit of remorse flows through him as he thinks of another life, where perhaps this beautiful angel and monstrous demon could have been friends. He pushes the feeling away, turning instead to rev his chainsaw and sprint away from the scene.

He could not cherish an angel, anyways. He could only break her bones and steal her soul. The Entity beckons, and he returns to the darkness.

 **A/N: The number of people who asked for Billy and Claudette angst? Zero. But, here it is anyways, so enjoy!**

 **~EndWillows**


	3. Defiance

Defiance

Characters: Philip/The Wraith

Rating: T

Summary: Philip Ojomo has a promise to keep.

He walks back into the clearing in pain.

There is blood dripping down his body, slipping down his legs and leaking into one of his eyes. The harsh burn and sting of the Entity's claws still pains him, even though the Entity has already abandoned him in disgust- well, at least physically. Of course, the mental draw of the demon still remains.

 _One does not defy the Entity,_ the voices whisper, but Philip ignores them and sits by the fire. Though he is close, he does not feel its warmth. The presence of the Entity is like a blizzard, sapping all willpower and heat from you until you are numb and defenseless. Philip is already losing feeling in his hands, and cradles them to warm them.

The others do not acknowledge him. The trapper is in the darkness, staring out into the woods, while the hillbilly is cleaning his chainsaw. Only the nurse looks towards him, briefly, before turning away to the fire. The clearing is full of others, but Philip still feels alone.

There are times Philip wishes he had been chosen as a survivor. Not because he would be a particularly good one, though he thinks he could be stealthier than most of them are, but because he wouldn't be alone.

A different voice scoffs in his head, this one a female he hasn't heard in ages. _"Loneliness is part of life, my son. There is no point in trying to believe otherwise."_

He wonders if that was actually something his mother had once said before she died of disease, or if the Entity is using her voice again. He gingerly moves to stretch his legs out in front of him, grimacing as his wounds remind him of their presence again.

 _You are a killer._ The voices are back again, a silky chorus. Philip wonders if he will ever be able to rest. _Killers show no mercy._

Philip frowns. _Others may not, but I do,_ he thinks in response to the demon.It was not in his nature to be a fearsome predator like the others. He hated violence, detested killing. Every time he reached out to strike someone, he had a flash of the young man's face who he had nearly killed, the one who was killed in front of him.

 _ **You**_ _were never shown mercy._ The voices whisper, and Philip feels his anger stir at the reminder. _Why should others have what you do not?_

 _I was not shown mercy._ Philip agrees with the voices, sighing out loud. He takes a deep breath, trying to restrain his anger. _But Azarov paid the price for his mistakes. That does not mean that these survivors, these_ _ **children**_ _, should not be given mercy as well._

 _The survivors are weak._ The voices are harsh now, angry. Male and female, adult and child, the cacophony rages inside his already aching head. Philip winces, a frown forming on his face. _They are rabbits, prey. You are a hunter, a killer. You must show them your strength through force._

For a minute, Philip considers this. It would be so simple, to slip into the role designed for him. To sacrifice four survivors daily, to rest, then to do it all over again. It would be easy- they would not see him coming until it was already too late, and the Entity would be _pleased_ with him for once. Maybe he would become the favorite, displace the trapper as the most feared of them all. He can feel the power and pride just inches away, so close. All of the glory, the victory, could be his, if he would just…

He stops that train of thought cold with the memory of the boy's face again. No. He had sworn after the incident with Azarov that he would not kill again, unless it was deserved. He had already taken too many lives with his ignorance. He would not do so again.

 _I am a killer._ He agrees mentally with the voices. _But only on_ _ **my**_ _terms. I will not do the bidding of a corrupt employer, nor the bidding of a maleficent god. You will not change my resolve._

The voices of the Entity hiss in rage. _You are a fool, Philip Ojomo. And I will make_ _ **sure**_ _you live to regret this._ Then the voices leave, and the smothering presence of the Entity vanishes. Feeling returns to Philip's fingers, and he sighs in relief.

Perhaps he was a fool, but that did not mean he wasn't right. Philip had made a promise to himself that he would never kill without cause again, and if he had to defy gods to keep that promise, then so be it. The blood flowing from him was worth not shedding the blood of innocents.

" _It is a true man that reacts to an unjust cause with defiance."_ His father had said that to him, once, when Philip was still young. He treasures every word his father had spoken, and this is no different. Philip leans back and closes his eyes, trying to find peace in the precious few moments without the corruption of the Entity.

 _Then let my defiance bring me its own glory._

 _ **A/N: Written for DalekRaptor, as he requested some love for the Wraith. I hope you enjoy!**_

 _ **I've always wondered how the Entity would react if the killers refused to kill the survivors- and if anyone would do that, it would definitely be Philip.**_

 _ **As always, if you enjoyed this, please leave a review- I'm in the middle of midterms, so writing might be slow for the next while. I'm trying to finalize the plotline for**_ **Leashes** _ **as well, so hopefully that will be updated soon. Sorry that it's taking so long!**_

 _ **Until next time!**_

 _ **~EndWillows**_


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